


Kamukura Izuru's Imaginary Friends

by That_Adorable_Fox



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: :(, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Child Neglect, Hinata Hajime & Nanami Chiaki Friendship, Hinata Hajime and Kamukura Izuru Share a Body but NOT Simultaneously, Human Experimentation, I don't know what to tag this, Isolation, Kamukura Izuru needs a hug, Nonbinary Kamukura Izuru, Other, Panic Attacks, kusamochi, poor kamukura aha, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27599711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_Adorable_Fox/pseuds/That_Adorable_Fox
Summary: The room was silent. Silent and dark. There was a bed and a door. There was a door directly in front of the bed. It was always locked. There was no door handle on the inside of the room.Even if he had the energy or motivation to, he wouldn’t be able to get out.~Kamukura Izuru is stuck sitting on a cot too stiff to be called a bed, glaring daggers into a certain Reserve Course uniform, and letting his mind wander far away from the little lonely cell he calls home.(now with two more chapters :D)
Relationships: Class 77 & Hinata Hajime, Hinata Hajime & Nanami Chiaki
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	1. Kamukura Izuru's Imaginary(?) Friends

The room was silent. Silent and dark. The bed was stiff and the sheets were cold. There was a single pillow at the end of the bed. There was a door directly in front of the bed. It was always locked. There was no door handle on the inside of the room.

Even if he had the energy or motivation to, he wouldn’t be able to get out.

A young man was sitting on the bed. He was slouched over, hands in his lap, legs dangling off the edge of the bed. He could move forward to place his feet on the floor, if he wanted. But the floor was cold and hard. He could put on the shoes and socks they offered him. He could put on the reserve course uniform that they had left behind the handle-less door.

He didn't. He stayed in the rough, blue hospital gown they put on him before the surgery. Why, he couldn't tell. The more he stared at the clothes in front of the door, the more foreign yet painfully familiar they seemed to him. Like they were someone else’s, but his at the same time.

Perhaps they were.

He heard them talking about a reserve course student called Hinata Hajime from behind the door. He heard them correct themselves from “Hinata” to “Kamakura.” 

Perhaps the clothes belonged to that Hinata Hajime. 

Maybe that was why he felt so disgusted whenever his eyes lingered on the folded clothes for so long. He wouldn't wear the clothes of a reserve course student. He didn't know why he felt so repulsed by that. The reserve course. Students so full of themselves they paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to be enrolled in a school that was originally intended for people with talent. People with purpose.

They were boring. Boring and dull and disgusting.

  
  


He quietly wondered if this Hinata Hajime was allowed outside. He wondered if Hinata Hajime had any friends, family, pets. He wondered if Hinata Hajime talked to friends, if he had any. He wondered what he would talk about, what he would do, where he would go. 

He wondered if Hinata Hajime knew how to smile, or laugh, or cry. He wondered if Hinata Hajime had experienced love.

If he wanted, he would think of himself as Hinata Hajime. He would live a life through this reserve course student’s eyes. Of course, everything was imaginary. He didn't know what Hinata Hajime was like. He had to make up everything for this boy. His personality, his appearance, his interests or hobbies, etcetera. 

Hinata Hajime had friends. Fifteen, to be exact. He gave them names. Nidai Nekomaru, Mioda Ibuki, Koizumi Mahiru, Owari Akane, Komaeda Nagito, Hanamura Teruteru, Souda Kazuichi, Mitari Ryota, Tsumiki Mikan, Tanaka Gundham, Sonia Nevermind, Pekoyama Peko, Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko, Saionji Hiyoko, and Nanami Chiaki. 

He had no clue where the names had come from. They just materialized into his mind. He felt some sort of odd connection to them. One daydream that he would return to often was with Nanami. They would be sitting by a fountain of some sort, both holding handheld games. Nanami would always beat him, and he would huff or laugh with emotions that were foreign to him. 

He was often pulled out of these trances if someone brought food two times a day or the cold of the dark room he was kept in bit at him harsher than it did before.

These daydreams felt like memories. But it was impossible for him to have memories of anyone besides scientists, twisted neurologists or men with scalpels. 

Hinata Hajime’s imaginary friends were the closest thing he had to human interaction, which was quite depressing considering that he was technically interacting with himself. It made him jealous of Hinata, in some stupid way. He knew nothing about this boy, he had made up everything about him in a pathetic attempt for interaction and yet he envied him to the ends of the world. 

If he could, he would laugh at how stupid it was. 

If he could, he would cry about how cold and dark the cell was. About how no one came through the door unless they needed his talents for something selfish. About how that goddamn reserve course uniform was so awfully painfully familiar that it burned his eyes if he looked at it for too long.

Instead, all that remained was the numb apathy that blanketed his mind and smothered the memories of Nanami Chiaki and Class 77 until they were nothing but mere fiction to the artificial Super-High-School-Level Hope.

Nothing more than fabricated characters in a weak attempt to cope with the crushing isolation that was slowly but surely deteriorating his mental state. (Not like it mattered. Scientists would come in with chemicals and fancy equipment and he would be all fixed up in no time.)

He wondered if they would be good friends for Hinata, if they existed.

~~Silently, he wondered if they would be good friends for a lonely soul called Kamukura Izuru, too.~~

  
  



	2. Open Doors and the Lights that Follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door opens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't expecting to continue this but well, I wrote this, got more ideas, and now I have inspiration hehe

There was some sort of commotion outside. 

The thick walls usually never let any sound into the small, dim room, but for some odd reason, Izuru could hear a very quiet, very faint yelling and banging. They sat up, brushing a hand through their tangled, matted hair so they could see again. Their night vision had gotten exceedingly better than the first year they were put in this room, not like they needed it, anyway. The only thing in this cell was a bed and a door. 

They put their feet on the ground, slipping on the dress shoes that had grown too small over the boringly long year and a half. They stood up slowly and carefully, trying to ignore the dizzy spell that plagued them. They managed to get to the door after ten slow, heavy steps. Why did their body feel as though it was made of lead? Moving had never been an issue for them before. 

Well, before a man in a white lab coat locked the door four months ago. Before the scientists and talent professionals stopped coming, before the slit in the wall that would deliver their meals only opened every once in a while when they remembered there was a living, breathing human beyond that door.

A normal human surely would have died of thirst, or starvation, or perhaps go insane and claw all the skin from their face, maybe slit their wrists with long, overgrown nails. 

But Izuru was no normal human. Maybe they weren't even human anymore.

Their hand creaked and clicked as their joints complained after many months of unuse. They pressed it to the door. They could practically see the cold, smooth metal leak into their palm. They pushed the door. It was weak, pathetic. But the commotion outside paused, if only for a second. 

They pushed again, harder. 

Someone was yelling something. What language were they speaking..? They were too far away for Izuru to tell. The noises got further and further away, and something sharp, something desperate sliced through their being like a knife. 

They had no time to ponder the spike of emotion, what it was, where it came from. All they knew was that whoever was on the outside of the door  _ couldn't _ leave, couldn't leave  _ them _ . They didn't want to live in darkness anymore, they didn't want to be cold and dull. They wanted to see someone, anyone again. They wanted confirmation that they weren't the only human in the world.

They shoved again at the door. It barely budged, but a loud  _ thump _ resonated throughout the room. They mustered up what little strength they could before pushed, banging, again and again. Their breaths were panty and shattered, their mind filled with nothing but  _ LET ME OUT, PLEASE, PLEASE, LET ME OUT! _

The door was jammed from the other side, and Izuru fell back out of surprise. They scrambled back until they hit their bed. There was another  _ BANG _ and they flinched back. Then another, and another, until they braced themselves enough not to flinch.

_ CRASH _

The door fell through, the locks and bars on the top keeping it in place were strained from the weight, until they popped off and showered Izuru with various nuts and bolts. 

Light streamed in from the doorway. It was bright, so bright, too bright. They brought their arms to their eyes, trying to block it out and save their eyes from blindness. They weren't sure when, but their body started shuddering and shaking. It wouldn't stop no matter how hard they willed it.

“Oh…” Someone’s soft voice cut through the overwhelming brightness. A soft, gentle voice. Slowly, Izuru opened their eyes to see a woman in a blue dress. Her orange hair was tied back into a ponytail with a white bow. Behind the woman were some children who looked about their age, or perhaps a few years younger, and three tall men behind them. 

The woman walked into the room, approaching him with her hands held up in a friendly manner. They couldn't do anything but watch her come closer. She sat in front of them and went to touch their shoulder, but they flinched violently away, and let their artificial Aikido talent take over. But, before they could throw her away from them, there was a violent punch to their gut and they spiraled back into the wall. How did they miss that? They should have predicted that someone would have intercepted, but their mind was foggy and scrambled to think straight. 

Luckily, they were not injured in any way, just stunned. But they could still hear the woman scolding the man who punched them. They blinked slowly, and the woman was in front of him again. 

“Izuru Kamukura?” She asked softly, her hand held out in front of her now.

Izuru’s dull eyes looked down at her hand, then back up at her. She nodded, a patient, welcoming smile on her face. They sent a wary glance to the man and the rest of the people behind the door, before slipping their pale, thin hand into hers. The woman smiled, slowly putting her other hand over his. 

Her hands were undeniably warm. So, so warm and gentle. They cupped his cold hand with such care that it made something odd curl in his chest. 

“We’re here to take you home.” She said softly.

“This is my home.” They replied, their voice gravelly and pained with disuse. 

The woman’s face fell and she shook her head. “No, honey. A home outside.”

Their eyes, dull and unblinking looked from her hand to her face. “I don't have a home outside. I was created, raised, and stored in this room.”

“Hajime…?” A girl with a space invaders clip looked past the woman, at Izuru. Something about her made their chest flutter and ache. They felt an odd kind of deja vu when looking at her… 

“Izuru, let's talk outside, okay? Can I touch your arms?” She asked. 

“You do not need permission.” They said softly. Something in her eyes told them that she wanted to say more, but refrained. Her warm hands let go of theirs and she helped him stand off the bed. Her hands held onto their shoulders and she guided them to the door, and the light. They hesitated before stepping out the door, but they didn't know why. Something told them to stop, that someone was going to do something horribly awful to them if they did so. But the woman’s hands, firm against their shoulders, gently pushed them onwards. They held their breath as they took their very first step out of the room. 

  
  



	3. Braided Hair and Kusamochi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chiaki visits a long lost friend  
> Izuru gets an oddly familiar visitor

The bed they sat on now was fluffier and warmer than their cot in the cell. The blankets were properly washed and weighted, rustling with heavy beans whenever it was moved. The sheets were a soft grey, the pillows with matching cases, equally as soft and comfortable. 

The woman -Miss Chisa Yukizome, he learned- was brushing through their hair with a comb that the girl with the space invaders clip found. Chisa’s firm but gentle tug on the brush through their long hair made him feel calm and safe. She had asked about cutting it, their long hair, and something in them wanted to beg not to. It was a comfort to them, a long, dark curtain to hide behind. They hadn't voiced any discomfort, but Chisa picked up on it through “the look in his eyes.” 

Izuru had said that it was impossible, you can't judge a person’s thoughts through their eyes. Chisa only laughed her soft laughter, and suggested just a small trim instead. 

“There, how does that feel, Izuru?” She asked them softly. Their closed eyes opened, and they brushed a hand through their hair to find it devoid of any previous tangles. They hummed softly. The clean smell of the conditioner and body wash she had washed them with still lingering on their body. 

“Thank you.” They whispered, their voice still too rough to talk without pain clawing at their throat. 

“Of course.” Chisa moved to sit next to them, and adjust the blue gown they had been put in. “Chiaki should be here in a few minutes with some more water and a light dinner, are you sure you’re alright staying here for a bit?”

_ Here _ being the hospital, in a special wing that was only used for richer, higher-up patients. It was quieter than other wings, with a special view of the beach from every window. TVs were stationed in every room, with a remote that was attached to the edge of the bed. Even the IVs attached in their arms felt more high quality. 

“I don't have a choice.” They whispered. Chisa went to interrupt them but they shook their head. “If I were to go anywhere else now, I would be too vulnerable and weak to defend myself.”

“Defend yourself? From what?”

“There are people going to take me back, aren't there?” They asked, turning to look at her again. “I am a science experiment, keeping me would be considered abduction of private property.”

“You are not  _ anyone's _ property, Izuru.” She placed a hand on theirs. “You’re a human.”

“A genetically modified human.” They said. “He signed the rights to himself away when the pen touched the contract.”

“Are you...talking about Hajime?” The space invader girl -Chiaki?- pushed the door open, carrying a tray with a glass of water, a bowl of soup and a smaller, colorful box on it. 

Chisa nodded, smiling sadly at the girl. She stood up from the bed and rolled a table over for Chiaki to place the food. Even after she put the tray on the table, she didn't leave the room. She stayed staring at Izuru, her hands fiddling idly. 

“Do you want to talk to him?” Chisa asked her, and Chiaki nodded. Chisa squeezed Izuru’s shoulder gently. “Are you okay with that?”

They looked between the two and nodded. 

“I'll be right outside if you need anything.” She smiled at them and walked out the door.

The door closed with a click and they looked back at Chiaki. She switched her weight from foot to foot before rolling the table with the food on it close enough to them so they could eat. 

“Can...I braid your hair?” She asked. They hesitated for a moment before nodding. Chiaki settled behind them, gathering the long, black strands in both of her hands. “Go ahead and eat, I’ll be gentle.”

“I do not understand why they feel the need to put an IV in my arm as well as have me ingest regular food.” They mumbled, but reached for a spoon nonetheless. Chiaki’s small hands slowly wove their hair into a tight, silky braid. She was humming a melody, perhaps something from a video game. It  _ did _ have a theme song feel. 

“Do you know anything about Hajime Hinata?” She asked, after a long moment of silence. 

“I know some things.” They mumbled, finishing the soup and putting the spoon down. “I know that he was a reserve course student, that he signed the contract for the Kamukura project. Everything else…I made up.”

“Made up?”

“It was boring in that room. So my imagination tended to take over quite a lot.” They hummed, sipping the water. Chiaki’s hands were not as gentle as Chisa’s had been, but they could sense that every forceful tug or twist was an accident. “I thought up a world and classmates for Hinata. I gave them names and faces, even though I had never seen anything like them before. But the doctors deemed my imagination a distraction a few months later, and had to limit me from thinking up anything else. Sometimes I can still remember them but-”

Something was shoved into their hand. Chiaki’s phone, small and delicate. Her phone case rattled and swirled with glitter and water, but that wasn't what Izuru was fixated on. 

A class photo. A class photo with the same people that their mind had created months and months ago. They could pick each of them out by name, could recognize their faces, could remember their talents.

...how?

“...What?” They voiced, eyes glued onto the photo. Everyone seemed to be gathered around a computer or TV of sorts, holding controllers connected to it. Some were eating food, some were waving to the camera, others were watching their classmates play. But one boy stood out to him the most. 

“Do they….do they look like this?” Chiaki’s hands finished weaving their hair. The end was slipped into a small, deep purple scrunchie with a plastic, pastel candy charm on it. She moved to sit next to them instead. “That's my class. And that's Hajime.”

Chiaki pointed to the boy they were staring at. His face was surprised, as if he were caught off guard when the picture was taken. His hand was raising a kusamochi to his mouth, the other hand holding one of the four controllers. The blazer that was normally a part of the reserve course uniform was on the floor, around the pillow he was sitting on. His white shirt sleeves had been rolled up and his tie loosened, if only a little bit.

“....but he was in the reserve course. This looks to be the main building, if you all are Ultimates.”

Chiaki smiled softly. “Just because he was a reserve course student doesn't mean we couldn't be friends.” She reached to the table and put the colorful box in their other hand. “I got kusamochi from the market, I…want to know what you think of it.”

Her voice hitched in the middle, and Izuru internally sighed.  _ So, she thinks of me as Hinata.  _

Nonetheless, they opened the packaging and took one of the mochi out. Slowly, they raised it to their lips and took a bite. Flavor danced across his tongue, making their eyes widen a bit. Something about it -the taste, the texture, practically everything- made their mind blank. An odd feeling of deja vu washed over their body and they swallowed the mochi. 

“Well? What do you think?” Chiaki asked. 

Izuru looked back down at the mochi before taking another bite. The same feeling washed over them, if a bit weaker. It felt as if something- ...no. Some _ one _ was trying to reach for them, for the flavor, for Chiaki.

“I think I like it.” They said. Their voice lost it's rasp, it’s pain, if only for a moment. Chiaki smiled sadly. 

“Sorry,” she shook her head and looked down at the phone in their lap again. “You sounded just like him.”

Izuru followed her gaze back to the boy in the picture. They didn't know why, but they felt as if Hinata Hajime was looking right back at them.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never had kusamochi, hehe. Any kind of mochi gives me a weird feeling in my mouth, but I still like the strawberry ice cream ones!


End file.
